


Memories

by nuttersincorporated



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Gen, Mystery Trio
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-13
Updated: 2015-03-16
Packaged: 2018-02-25 07:11:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2612909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nuttersincorporated/pseuds/nuttersincorporated
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set after the Society of the Blind Eye episode. Fiddleford McGucket tries to remember who he used to be.</p><p>What happened? This was a one shot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Gina McGucket is based on this picture
> 
> http://hereissomething.tumblr.com/post/102338500064/first-try-at-drawing-a-mrs-mcgucket-i-have-such-a
> 
> and this conversation
> 
> http://gods-little-girl77.tumblr.com/post/102347348095/oh-my-gosh-phuz-you-practically-friggen-slapped-me-in

It hurt more than Fiddleford would have thought possible. Each new fragment of a forgotten life tortured him. The friends whose names and faces he could no longer recall, the mistakes he’d made, the family he’d let down. In his stupidity and cowardice he’d hurt so many people. Each new memory was like a dagger to the heart.

However, the pain was better than the alternative. Fiddleford had done things that he could never forgive himself for, but he would never try to forget them again. Running away from his problems and erasing them from his memory hadn’t made them go away. It had just made them worse and caused him to hurt more people.

So, even though the memories were painful, Fiddleford clung to every new one he got back. He tried to undo some of the damage he’d done. He was trying to make amends with his son, although he wasn’t even sure if that was possible any more.

Fiddleford had quickly discovered that anything could set off a new memory and help reconnect a little more with his past. He’d taken to wandering around town, trying to find places that felt familiar.

* * *

 

The smell of pine on Manly Dan’s axe had triggered a memory about going on a hunting trip with his ex-wife’s (then fiancée) brothers. It hadn’t helped him remember any of their names but he did remember their laughter at his unwillingness to kill a rabbit.

* * *

 

The library had given him the fuzzy memories of hours spent researching. He couldn’t remember anything specific but there had been another man there too. He didn’t remember the man’s name but he was sure they’d been working together. They’d been … researching the supernatural? Sometimes there had been a third man trying to help or annoy them. While Fiddleford couldn’t remember what either of them had looked like, he _thought_ they’d looked very similar.

* * *

 

The sound of music brought back a conversation. He couldn’t remember who it was with but he’d been happy at the time.

“Yo Nerd,” they’d said, “you finished on your latest gadget yet?”

“Not yet Moron, so not touching,” he’d told them.

“But I  _wannnnnnna_ ,” the other man had moaned, then grinned, “Come on Doc, you’ve been down here all day, you need to eat at some point.”

* * *

 

In the bowling ally, Fiddleford remembered a family evening out with friends. He, his wife and their son had been on a team against… he couldn’t really remember. Had the two people he almost remembered working with been on the other team? He was sure there had been a child on the other team as well but… no, he couldn’t quite remember.

* * *

 

The taste of pancakes had given Fiddleford back the face of his ex-wife and her laugh.

He remembered sitting across a small table from her, while their son sat in a high chair covered in baby food. He’d been telling her about the previous day when his two colleagues… two friends? had dragged him into some sort of trouble. She’d laughed and said that if they didn’t take better care of him, she’d have to have words with them.

He’d said, “Oh, I don’t think you need to do that. They’re still quaking in their boots from the last time you told them off, Gina.”

Fiddleford’s breath caught in his throat as the memory ended and he found himself sat alone in a booth at Greasy’s Diner.

Gina… his wife had been called Gina. She’d been the most beautiful woman he’d ever known. He’d loved her _so_ much. How could he have allowed let himself forget that?

Fiddleford wiped tears from his eyes as he wondered how long she’d stayed once he’d started to go mad. What had finally driven her away? How much had he unintentionally hurt her with his insanity? He racked his memory but it didn’t tell him anything new. Maybe one day he would remember everything and he could tell her how sorry he was.

* * *

 

He wandered into the graveyard and was hit by the memory of fear.

Fiddleford had been running for his life from… something, but he hadn’t been as quick as the two men who’d also been sprinting with him. They’d both grabbed one of his arms and picked him up as they kept running.

“Put me down!” he’d yelled indignantly, even through his fear.

“Oh, don’t worry,” one of them had panted, “we’ll put you down if it catches us. When I say ‘put you down,’ what I really mean is throw you at it so we can get away.”

* * *

 

Fiddleford was standing in a lab. There was a howling wind dragging at him that was coming from some sort of portal. He was pouring fuel into a machine that fed it. Once all the fuel was emptied into the machine, he joined the two other men in the lab. They were laughing and joking.

Fiddleford was practically bouncing with excitement, “I can’t believe we’re actually going to do this! If this works, it’s going to change everything!”

“Calm down, Fiddleford,” one of them said. Fiddleford’s eyes darted to him. Something had sounded… _off_ about his voice and this man never called him Fiddleford. Then he shrugged, sure that he’d imagined it. “We all know what this could mean.”

“Yes, yes, I know, Stanford. I’m just excited. Are you guys sure I shouldn’t be the one to go through?”

“No offence,” the third man (so like his twin in appearance) said, as he tied a rope around tightly around his waist, “but if this thing leads to some sort of hell dimension, I think I’d have a better chance of getting back safely. I don’t fancy explaining to Gina how you were eaten by a monster from dimension X. Besides, we don’t know if any of your gadgets will survive the trip. The rat’s cage was pretty mangled when we pulled it back though.”

“But the rat _itself_ was fine,” Fiddleford said, and then grinned, “but I take your point, Stanley. Besides, I know I have to stay on this side and keep the machine working in case anything goes wrong.”

“I wouldn’t trust anyone else to keep me safe.”

“Hey!”

“You know what I mean, Stan!”

As Stanley walked towards the portal, his brother Stanford held onto the end of the rope that was tied around his waist. The wind was dragging harder than ever now and Fiddleford ran to the controls so that he could keep a closer eye on the readouts.

“Wish me luck!” Stanley yelled as he reached the portal.

“Good luck!” Fiddleford and Stanford both called back as he stepped though. The readings on the machine went crazy for a moment and then settled down again.

“The readings seem to be the same as for the animals we sent though,” he told Stanford. Stanford laughed, it wasn’t a nice or kind sound and Fiddleford’s head whipped around just in time to see Stanford let go of the rope.

Fiddleford screamed at him in horror and confusion as the wind dragged the rope towards the portal. He scrambled after it desperately, trying to catch the end before it was too late. He had almost caught it when he was tackled to the ground.

He kicked and struggled under the weight of Stanford but it was no use, he couldn’t get out and he could only watch as the rope disappeared forever.

“What the _hell_ are you doing!?” he screamed, he was panicking and struggling to breathe under the weight of the other man but all he cared about was trying to save the man who’d gone though the portal. “Get off me. Stanford, we need to help him.”

Stanford got up, dragging Fiddleford with him by the collar of his lab coat. It was only then that he noticed that Stanford’s eyes were glowing yellow and he had slits for pupils. He screamed in fear and tried to pull away as the other man began to drag him towards the portal. The thing with his friend’s face gave an inhuman laugh and said, “Sorry Llama but Fez isn’t here right now.”

* * *

 

Fiddleford woke drenched in a cold sweat. He was shaking in fear and terror and breathing hard.

_No, no, no, no_ , he thought in horror, _why didn’t I realise what was happening? How did I not realise he wasn’t Stanford? I shouldn’t have let_ _Stanley_ _go though that portal. I should have saved him. I should have saved them, I should have saved them, I should have saved them…_

It took Fiddleford hours to calm down. The guilt and horror of what had happened 30 years ago hit him as freshly as if it had only just happened. He wondered how he’d survived that night but his memory was still blank after Bill, using Stanford’s body, had started to drag him towards the portal.

The memories hurt but he wasn’t going to run away again. He had to try and make amends.

* * *

 

Stan watch as Dipper and Mabel ran outside laughing with Soos as the three of them went off to play laser tag again. It was nice to see his niece and nephew doing something that wasn’t potentially life threatening for once.

He looked around for Wendy but, yet again, she was nowhere to be seen. With a sigh, he went behind the counter to man the till. Just as he was sitting down someone walked through the door. Grunkle Stan crossed his arms and his eyes narrowed when he saw who it was.

“What do you want, McGucket?” he asked more aggressively than he’d intended. The other man just stood there looking at him and not saying anything. “Well?”

Fiddleford took a deep breath then asked, “Stanford, what happened to Stanley?”

Stan’s breath caught in his throat. His eyes quickly ran up and down Fiddleford as he really looked at him for the first time since he’d entered the shack. He was cleaner than Stan had remembered seeing him in years; his gaze was steady and held none of the madness Stan had grown used to seeing there. Now he thought about it, Stan realised that there hadn’t been any large robot attacks recently either.

He knew it couldn’t be his friend. He’d lost the Fiddleford the same night he’d lost his brother. Technically, Fiddleford had gone mad a few weeks later but it was because of that night. The night Stan had made a stupid deal that had cost him everything.

He knew he shouldn’t get his hopes up but he couldn’t help it. In a small, slightly hesitant voice, as if the answer could kill him, he asked, “That you, Nerd?”

Fiddleford shrugged, not sure how to answer and said, “Maybe, I think I’m closer than I have been in a long time. I… oof” he was cut off as Stan ran around the counter and tackled him in an almost bone crushing hug.

“I missed you, Nerd,” Stan told him.

“Can’t… breathe,” Fiddleford gasped.

“Oh sorry,” Stan said letting go.

“Moron,” Fiddleford said once he’d got his breath back and Stan grinned at his old nickname, “I wish I could say that I’d missed you too but it would be a lie. I’m sorry I’ve been gone for so long but I think I’m coming back.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stanford asks Fiddleford how he’s started to remember things and they discuses old memories.

“So what happened?” Stan asked once both he and Fiddleford were sat in the living room. He’d actually shut the Mystery Shack early so that he could make himself and his old friend some coffee. “When did you start remembering things, what made you remember and how much do you remember?”

“I can only remember bits and pieces so far,” Fiddleford told him, “but it’s starting to come back. I remember that I was married to Gina and how happy we were before I ruined everything, I remember that you and I used to work together with your brother on… something, we were friends, you call me Nerd and I called you Moron and… I _think_ you used to call the three of us the Mystery Trio?”

Stan snorted, “Yeah, you’d always say it was a stupid name and I’d laugh.”

Fiddleford sat quietly for a moment trying to remember. With a small sigh, he shook his head, “I’ll have to take your word for that.”

Stan felt a lump in his throat but he ignored it. He was happy that Fiddleford remembered anything at all.

“What jogged your memory?”

“I have your niece and nephew and your staff to thank for that,” Fiddleford said.

“What?” Stan asked, his eyes narrowing slightly. As happy as he was that Fiddleford was remembering things, he wasn’t pleased to know Dipper and Mabel had been meddling again. Why couldn’t Dipper leave the mysteries of GravityFalls alone and stop dragging himself and Mabel into danger?

“They came to me with one of our old journals,” Fiddleford said, not noticing the reaction his answer had provoked, “they thought I’d written it. I had no idea what they were talking about so they decided something must have happened to make me forget. Then we took on an evil cult – called the Society of the Blind Eye – that I’d accidentally created thirty years ago. We destroyed the cult and erased the memories of its existence from the minds of all its members. I found a copy of my memories and since then I’ve been trying to remember who I used to be.”

Stan couldn’t hold back a groan. “Not that I’m not pleased you’re getting your memory back, but why do Dipper and Mabel have to run towards danger all the time? As for Wendy and Soos, they should have known better… well Wendy should have but she’d do anything to get out of doing a little work. I knew I shouldn’t have given Dipper back that journal.”

“Why don’t you just tell them the truth?” Fiddleford asked, “they’d stop looking for answers if they knew.”

“Because I don’t want them getting involved in things any more than they already are. I’m supposed to be looking after them. I’d never forgive myself if they got hurt on my watch. I can’t…” his voice faltered, “I can’t lose them too. Even if I did want to tell them the truth, I wouldn’t know where to start anymore. I haven’t spoken about what happened for years now. Besides, the less they know the safer they’ll be.”

Fiddleford smiled weakly, “They’re smart kids but reckless too. They remind me of another pair of twins I once knew.”

“And just look how _that_ turned out,” Stan said bitterly, “if I’d been a little bit more careful…” His hands balled into fists and his eyes lost focus as his mind was lost in a past Fiddleford could barely remember.

“Stanford,” Fiddleford said but Stan didn’t respond, “Moron.” Stan jumped slightly and his hands relaxed.

“Sorry, I… sorry,” he took a deep shuddering breath, “I’m sorry Fiddles.”

Fiddleford winced, “You _know_ I hate it when you call me that…” he stopped as he was hit by a sudden wave of memories of being called stupid nicknames by Stan and he grinned. “Hey, I remember I hated being called that! That’s a new memory… or an old one… oh, who cares? I remember!”

“Of course you hated me calling you nicknames,” Stan said with a smile, “I wouldn’t have kept calling you them all if you hadn’t gotten so adorably annoyed at me every time I did, Nerd. After a while you stopped reacting to or acknowledging me if I called you anything other than Fiddleford or Nerd.”

“Well I didn’t mind it when you called me that, Moron,” Fiddleford said.

“So when did you start getting your memories back?” Stan asked.

“The twins, Soos, Wendy and I took down the Blind Eye last Wednesday. I’ve been wandering around town since then trying to jog my memory,” Fiddleford told him, “last night I finally remembered a little bit about what happened thirty years ago.”

“How much do you remember?” Stan asked the lump was back in his throat as guilt, regret and sadness threatened to choke him.

“We were working on some sort of portal,” Fiddleford said, “I don’t know where it went to or what it was for but we thought it was important at the time. Stanley went through. You were holding onto the end of a rope that was tied to him so that he could get back but it wasn’t really you. Someone called… Bill?” Stan nodded, “was controlling you or pretending to be you and he let go of the rope. I couldn’t reach it in time and the rope disappeared through the portal. The last thing I remember about that night is Bill dragging me towards the portal. I don’t know what happened next or how I survived.”

“I’m sorry, Nerd,” Stan said in a small voice, “it was all my fault. I made a stupid deal and it cost me everything. I didn’t mean for any of this. I never thought anyone would get hurt. I should have realised it was a trap.”

“I remember just enough to know that Bill was bad news. He could trick anyone into making a deal with him if he wanted them to,” Fiddleford said as reassuringly as he could but then he frowned, “I should have realised he wasn’t you though. I was supposed to be the smart one… or I think I was. I don’t… I don’t remember any more,” his face crumpled, “I’m sorry I made myself forget. I was a coward.”

“No,” Stan said forcefully, “none of this was your fault. It was me, it was always my fault and I’m so sorry. I tried to put it right you know.” He didn’t mention his private project under the Mystery Shack. Fiddleford had only just started to remember things. He didn’t want to scare him off again so instead he said, “When you first lost your memory, I tried so hard to make you remember.”

“Really?” Fiddleford asked, touched.

“’Course I did,” Stan said rolling his eyes, “you were my best friend.”

“What did happen that night?” Fiddleford asked, “why didn’t I end up being dragged through the portal?”

“Well…” Stan started to say but he stopped when he heard the front door to the shack opening and Dipper and Mabel’s voices, “damn, they’re back quicker than I thought.” He looked over at Fiddleford imploringly. “Please don’t tell them I helped create the journals.”

Fiddleford nodded just as Mabel rushed into the room laughing, followed by a limping Dipper who looked very disgruntled. Mabel stopped when she saw Fiddleford and smiled, “Hi Mr. McGucket,” she said brightly, “we just went to visit you at the dump but you weren’t there because you were here. Dipper got chased by a racoon. He screamed really loudly.”

“I didn’t scream and it didn’t chase me,” Dipper said sullenly, “I gave a manly shout of surprise and then moved away from a wild animal.”

“Sure you did,” Mabel laughed. Then she turned to Fiddleford and asked, “How’s your memory today?”

“Better, thanks,” he said.

Dipper was looking at Fiddleford in surprise. “Why are you here?” he asked and glanced at his Grunkle worriedly. He hoped Fiddleford hadn’t told him anything that would get him and his sister into trouble. He’d promised to stay out of danger and he doubted taking on an evil cult counted as keeping that promise.

“I’ve been catching up with old friends and trying to remember a bit more about my past,” Fiddleford told him.

“He came round and wasn’t screaming nonsense for once,” Stan said, shooting Fiddleford and apologetic look, “Nerd… I mean, Fiddleford and I used to be friends a long time ago.”

Dipper opened his mouth to ask something but Stan interrupted before he had a chance and said accusingly, “What happened to Fiddleford is one of the reasons I made you promise to stop looking for trouble. You think I want the same thing to happen to you? I don’t think your parents would be very happy with me if you came back at the end of the summer with no memories and building giant killer robots. I thought you said you were going to play laser tag with Soos.”

“Um, it was closed?” Dipper said turning red.

“I’ll be on my way then,” Fiddleford said, standing up to leave, “it was nice catching up, Stanford.”

“What?” Stan asked distractedly, “no way are you going back to that junk yard.”

“Well, where else am I supposed to go?” Fiddleford asked laughing, “I burnt all my bridges a long time ago.”

“You can stay here if course,” he said rolling his eyes, “honestly, Nerd, you can be a real idiot sometimes. As if I’d let you keep living in that place.”

Dipper and Mabel were both looking between their Grunkle and Fiddleford curiously now. Stan suddenly seemed to remember that they were there and he quickly added, “I mean, not for free obviously but I’ve seen you create stuff out of practically nothing. This old place is falling apart; if you can fix stuff around the shack and help with some of the exhibitions then you can stay.”

“I…” Fiddleford didn’t know what to say to express how grateful he was. In the end all he could say was, “Thank you.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stanford help Fiddleford collect his things from the dump and Fiddleford has an emotional break down. This chapter is heavy on feels.

“Great!” Dipper said seeing an opportunity to avoid getting into any more trouble, “Mabel and I will just head back to the dump, get McGucket’s stuff and…”

“Nice try, kid,” Stan interrupted, “but you and your sister are both grounded for the rest of the week.”

They both groaned, “But Grunkle Stan…” Mabel started to say.

“No buts. I don’t know what you’ve been up to,” he said playing dumb, “but it’s clearly been dangerous. Get your backsides up those stairs right now and don’t come down. _I’ll_ help Fiddleford move his stuff. If I find out you’ve left your room while I’m gone, your summer won’t be worth living.”

 _Sorry,_ Fiddleford mouthed at the twins behind Stan’s back as they turned grumbling and headed for the stairs.

“Come on, Nerd,” Stan said once they’d gone, “let’s get your things.”

“You shouldn’t be so hard on them,” Fiddleford said following Stan as he led the way out of the living room, “they were only trying to help. It’s my fault they were anywhere near the Society of the Blind Eye… or that it existed at all. God I’m so sorry, Stan.”

“Quit apologising, Nerd,” Stan said rolling his eyes, “they didn’t need your help to get into trouble.”

They walked into the gift shop and Stan stopped when he saw Wendy sitting behind the counter reading a magazine, “And where were you earlier?”

“Went to the toilet and when I came back the shop was closed,” Wendy said not looking up, “I’m meant to be working and I’m here so I still get paid, right?”

“You’re lucky I pay you at all. You’ve never done a decent day’s work in your life,” Stan said annoyed, “go home, the Mystery Shack’s closed for the rest of the day. If you turn up on time tomorrow I might not dock you a day’s pay for being rude.”

“ _Sweet!_ ” Wendy said grinning as she threw aside the magazine she’d been pretending to read. She knew he’d never follow threw on his threat no matter what he said. She caught sight of Fiddleford behind Stan and smiled, “Yo McGucket, how’s it hanging?”

“Umm good?” he hazarded and Wendy gave him the thumbs up.

“Can I use the phone to call my friends for a lift?” she asked turning her attention back to Stan.

“Sure, whatever,” he said, “anything to make you leave quicker.”

Stan and Fiddleford set off for the car again.

“I don’t speak teenager,” Fiddleford said once they were outside, “what was she asking me?”

“God only knows,” Stan said, “I _think_ she was asking you how you were.”

“Oh, okay then.”

When they reached the car Fiddleford stopped as he was hit by another memory, “What happened to your motorbike?” he asked.

“Sold it,” Stan said opening the door and slipping into the driver’s seat. Fiddleford got in a second later and buckled himself into the passenger side.

As Stan tried to get the engine to turn over Fiddleford said, “But you loved that thing.”

“I needed the money,” Stan said turning the key again. He grumbled when the engine only made a groaning sound each time it failed to start. In frustration he hit the dashboard and yelled, “START YOU USELESS PIECE OF JUNK!” As if it had heard him, the engine finally turned on.

Stan reversed and, as they set off, he said, “I was going to lose the Shack. The money I got from selling the motorbike let me keep it just long enough to turn it into a successful tourist trap.”

“I’m sorry you’ve been struggling with money,” Fiddleford said, “I should have been there to help.”

“Gees Nerd, you gotta stop saying that,” Stan said. They hit a bump and the car flew several feet into the air before crashing down again, “Not everything is your fault and that sure as hell wasn’t. Stuff happened and I dealt with it. Everyone has money troubles sometimes. The Mystery Shack makes enough money to pay the bills so I don’t have to worry about it anymore. It’s not like I ended up living in the town junkyard or anything,” he teased.

“When did I first start living there?” Fiddleford asked, “The last thirty years have been a bit of a blur but I remember bits of them better than my life before.”

“Twenty eight or twenty nine years ish,” Stan said with a sigh, “you went downhill pretty quickly.”

They both fell silent and after a while Stan put on the radio. When they reached the dump Stan helped Fiddleford put his few possessions into the back of the car.

“Are you sure about me staying at the Shack?” Fiddleford asked as he put a box of tools onto the back seat, “I don’t want to be a bother.”

Stan gave him a pitying look as his heart gave a painful twinge of sadness, “What do I have to say to make you believe that I _want_ you around? You’re not a bother, you’re my friend and I want you back. I watched you go mad. Just let me be around to help you get back on your feet.”

Fiddleford could feel his eyes starting to water. He rubbed at his eyes, desperately trying to clear them before any tears could fall. Unfortunately Stan noticed. He put down the box he’d been carrying and pulled Fiddleford into a much gentler hug than the one he’d given him earlier.

“Hey, it’s going to be okay,” he said awkwardly patting Fiddleford on the back. Fiddleford’s body started to shake as he began to cry uncontrollably. Stan, who was the first to admit that he’d never been any good at offering comfort, started to panic, “Don’t cry! I promise you that you’ll be alright.”

“Why are you being so nice to me?” Fiddleford said between sobs, “I was a coward who ran away and drove myself mad. Why don’t you hate me?”

“You weren’t a coward and you didn’t run away,” Stan said fiercely, “I drove you away, okay? I was angry and hurting and I needed someone to blame. You were the only one around. I didn’t mean what I yelled at you, I was just angry but you believed me. The next time I saw you, you didn’t even know who I was. I realised what I’d done but it was too late. I’ve never forgiven myself for what I made you do.”

Fiddleford continued to cry. Stan led him back into his old home in the junkyard. It was almost empty of Fiddleford’s things now but he found a chair and sat down pulling Fiddleford with him and sitting him on his knee. He started patting Fiddleford’s back again as reassuringly as he could.

Fiddleford barely weighed anything at all. He was all skin and bones. Stan couldn’t help wondering how he’d lasted so long without a proper home, warm clothes or food. By all rights Fiddleford should have starved to death or died of exposure years ago. Stan hugged him a little closer, tears threatening in his own eyes.

It took a long time but eventually Fiddleford had cried all the tears he could. He didn’t feel any better. He just felt hollow and empty inside.

“No matter what you say, we both know I was a coward,” he said in an emotionless voice, “I chose to forget rather than deal with what had happened. Nobody made me do it. I was had a wonderful wife, a son who depended on me, fr…” he stopped short, “did I have friends other than you and Stanley?” he shrugged, “doesn’t matter. The point is, I had people who needed me but I was selfish and weak. I let everyone down.

“I’m sorry for what I did, Stanford,” he continued, “don’t tell me not to say it because I’m never going to stop being sorry. The only reason I came to visit you today was to tell you how sorry I am. You don’t owe me anything other than contempt and hatred but you’ve chosen to help me instead. I can’t ever make up for what I did but I swear that I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to make amends to you and everyone else that I hurt.”

“I don’t want anything from you, Nerd,” Stan said his voice breaking, “I just want you to be safe and well. I just want my friend back.”

“That’s the thing, Stanford,” Fiddleford said in a voice that was still devoid of emotion, “I’m never going to be that person again. Even if I somehow remember everything one day, I can’t get back to who I used to be. That person died the first time I erased my memory. I’m nothing more than a ghost of that person now and that’s all I’ll ever be.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dipper wonders just how much his grunkle knows and Stan helps Fiddleford movie in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to the awesome southernkittygal from Tumblr for betaring this chapter for me. You are the best <3

Dipper and Mabel watched from their bedroom window as their grunkle and Fiddleford drove away. Once they’d gone, Dipper started excitedly rearranging his author board. Mabel set up a tea party for her toys.

“Mabel, do you realize how much this changes?” Dipper asked.

“Huh?” she said looking up.

“Grunkle Stan was living in Gravity Falls at the same time as the Author _and_ he was friends with McGucket!”

“So?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” he asked, “Grunkle Stan might know who the Author is.”

“Lot’s of people were in Gravity Falls back then,” she said, “Are you going to interview them all? Most people who could have told you anything had their memory erased anyway. Besides, even if Grunkle Stan did know something, he’d never tell us. You know how defensive he gets when you mention anything supernatural and we’re already grounded. It’s a good thing he grounded us on a Sunday and not a Monday or we’d be stuck up here forever.”

“But Grunkle Stan and McGucket must have been really good friends,” Dipper persisted, “I’ve never seen him be that nice to someone. Plus, with McGucket living here, I’ll get to ask him lots more questions.”

“I think you should let Mr. McGucket get settle in a bit first, Bro Bro. It’s probably been really hard for him. He’s only just starting to remember things and he doesn’t need you pestering him.”

“I’m not going to pester him. I just want some answers.”

“Well be is nice about it, is all I’m saying,” Mabel said arranging her toys in tiny chairs, “I like Mr. McGucket. Since he’s going to be living here, I’m going to ask him if I can call him Uncle Fiddleford… or should that be Grunkle Fiddleford?” she pondered.

Just then they heard someone coming up the stairs and a moment later Wendy came in. Dipper quickly started tidying up his half of the bedroom. He might have been over his crush on her but that didn’t mean he was comfortable with Wendy seeing how messy his room was.

“Don’t tidy up ‘cause I’m here. You’ve seen my place and it’s a tip,” she said. Then she grinned, “You guys are never going to believe what I saw earlier.”

“What?” they both asked.

“I was totally just chilling on the roof, avoiding work, when I saw McGucket come over. I hadn’t seen him since we helped him get his memories back so I went down to see how he was doing. However, when I got there, Stan was giving him the biggest hug ever. I couldn’t hear what they were saying but Stan closed the shop so he could talk to him.”

“I _told_ you something was going on!” Dipper told Mabel triumphantly.

“They were friends,” Mabel said with a shrug, “We already knew that or Grunkle Stan wouldn’t be letting him move in here.”

“Wow, hold up,” Wendy said her eyes widening, “You’re saying Stan’s actually doing something nice for someone and there’s no profit involved?” they nodded, “Dudes, what colour is the sky today because this is totally weirder than all the strange stuff that happens around here.”

“I know, right?” Dipper said excitedly, “This has got to mean Grunkle Stan knows something he’s not telling us. He wouldn’t just do this for anyone. The only reason he let me and Mabel stay over for the summer was because mum and dad were desperate. Plus, they gave him some money to cover our food and stuff. That, and he doesn’t have to pay us for all the work we do around here.”

Just then they heard the sound of a car approaching and a horn honked. Wendy glanced out of the window.

“My ride’s here,” she said, “You guys want to come hang out with us?”

“I wish we could but we’re grounded,” Dipper said, “I think Grunkle Stan really meant it this time when he said we’d be in trouble if we don’t listen to him.”

“Shame, we always have more fun when you two tag along,” she said with a sigh, “I’ll catch you both on the flip side.” With a wave she headed down the stairs.

Dipper went back to arranging his author board while Mabel started pouring imaginary tea into toy cups and giving them to her stuffed animals. Dipper pinned a new piece of string to Fiddleford’s photo.

“Mabel, do you have any spare photos of Grunkle Stan?” he asked.

“Sure,” she said getting up and pulling a stack of photos from her bedside cabinet, “I only use the best photos for my scrapbook and these ones didn’t make the cut.”

She passed them over to him and then went back to playing. Dipper flicked through the pile until he found a half decent one of Stan. It was from their fishing trip near the start of the summer. He stuck it to the board, then pinned the other end of the string to the photo, connecting the two pictures. He sat back and put his head on one side, looking at all the new connections he’d made.

“I’m going to find Waddles and watch TV with him,” Mabel said suddenly, distracting him, “Keep an eye out and warn me when Grunkle Stan and Uncle Fiddleford get back.”

“Will do,” he said as she headed for the stairs. Then he picked up the Journal and started looking through it for any mention of his grunkle.

* * *

Fiddleford had calmed down by the time they reached the Mystery Shack again. Stan was still giving him worried looks out of the corner of his eye so Fiddleford made his fake smile a little wider. It was bad enough that Stan was going to trouble for him without having to worry about him as well.

Stan and Fiddleford both grabbed some of Fiddleford’s things for the back of the car and headed form the house.

When they got inside, Fiddleford heard the sound of the telly being switched off and someone hurrying up the stairs. Stan’s mouth twisted up at the corners in a wry smile as he shook his head.

“Those damn kids never listen to a word I say,” he muttered, then he turned to Fiddleford, “Come on, Nerd. Let’s get you settled in.”

“Umm, where am I going to stay?” Fiddleford asked.

“Your old room of course. Where else?” Stan said.

“I had a room here?”

“Well, yeah,” Stan said trying not to let his sadness at the fact that Fiddleford didn’t remember show in his face or voice. As he led the way he said, “Well, to be accurate, it was our guest room but sometimes when you and Stanley had a particularly late night in the lab, you’d stay over.”

They reached the corridor where his brother’s old room – now Soos’ break room – was situated. Stan stopped a pained expression on his face.

“You okay, Moron?”

“Huh? Fine, I’m fine,” Stan said as he started moving again. Then a smile spread across his face, “You called me Moron again.”

“Well if the name fits…” Fiddleford said with a small genuine smile on his own face.

Opposite Stan’s brother’s old room was a battered wardrobe. Stan put down Fiddleford’s things and with a grunt of effort dragged the wardrobe further down the corridor revealing a wooden door which had been hidden behind it.

Fiddleford stared at the door. He was sure that he should feel some connection to it but he felt nothing. It didn’t trigger any new memories. It was just a door and he couldn’t help feeling slightly disappointed.

Stan, who’d been watching his face, gave a small sigh and opened the door. He stepped inside and pulled a cord hanging from the ceiling. For a few seconds nothing happened then a light flickered on revealing the room.

It was a small room. Fiddleford could make out a bed opposite the door and a boarded up window in the left wall. There was also a chest of drawers and swivel chair at a desk. The furniture was covered in sheets that had once been white but were now covered in a deep layer of dust. Fiddleford still felt no connection to the room or its contents but he was grateful for it nonetheless.

“Sorry about the dust,” Stan said, “This room’s been closed for a long time but I’ll have it cleaned out in no time. Hang on,” and he was gone. A minute later he returned with a dustpan and brush, and a crowbar. It took him only a few moments to un-board the window. As the wood splintered and fell away, natural light filtered into the room for the first time in almost thirty years.

Fiddleford put down his possessions and entered the room to help. He pulled the sheets off the furniture and sent dust flying everywhere. When he took a breath he couldn’t help breathing in the dust and he doubled over coughing. Stan was by his side in a second, pulling him out of the room and into the dust free corridor.

“You okay, Nerd?” Stan asked patting Fiddleford on the back, trying to help but underestimating his strength and almost sending the smaller man flying.

“I will be when you stop hitting me, Moron,” he said giving Stan a half hearted glare once he’d caught his breath.

Stan chuckled, “Yeah, yeah. I wouldn’t have to if you could breathe properly. Go take a break,” he instructed, “Find something to eat in the kitchen or watch the TV and I’ll finish up in here.”

“Are you sure? Shouldn’t I help?” he asked uncertainly, “I mean, you’ve already done so much and…”

“No,” Stan interrupted in a voice that held no room for argument, “We’ve been over this, Nerd. I’m helping you ‘cause I want to. Right now, I want you to go rest. I don’t want you choking so just let me clean this room and then you’ll have somewhere to get a decent night’s sleep for once.”

“Yes. Sorry. Of course,” Fiddleford said realising that he would be less of a bother if he was out of the way.

“And quit saying sorry.”

“Sorry Stanford,” Fiddleford said automatically. A moment later he realised what he’d said and his hand flew his mouth, it covering, as his eyes took on a frightened look like a deer caught in the headlights. Stan silently cursed himself for putting that expression there. After a few moments Fiddlford removed his hand and said, “S… I um… I apologize for saying that all the time. I’ll take a look around the Shack and see if I can still find my way about it. I’ll stay out of your way.”

“You don’t need to stay out of my way, Nerd,” Stan said in a softer voice, “But feel free to look around. It won’t take me long to get this old room cleaned out. Call me if you need anything and I’ll be there.”

Fiddleford nodded and almost ran away, his shoulders hunched. Stan watched him go and made a mental note to stop telling him not to say sorry. Every time he did it only seemed to scare him and make him want to apologize even more. With a sigh he turned back to Fiddleford’s room and got to work.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fiddleford talks to Dipper and Mabel and Stan finds a pair of Fiddleford’s old glasses.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to the awesome southernkittygal for betaring this chapter for me. You are the best <3

Fiddleford made his way slowly from room to room, trying to reconcile the Shack that now existed with the shadowy version that he could only half remember from before he’d destroyed his own mind. Some places, like the living room, seemed almost familiar but small things like the colour of the carpet would make them feel alien at the same time. Other rooms were completely unknown to him. At one point he stopped and stared at a blank wall convinced there had once been a door there that led to… something.

No matter how hard he looked, he couldn’t seem to find where the lab had been, not that he even remembered where in the Shack it had been situated. Hadn’t it been underground? No, surely that couldn’t be right.

Eventually, he made his way up the stairs to the top of the Shack and knocked on the door of the twins’ bedroom. Dipper opened the door and his face broke into a large grin.

“Hi, McGucket!” he said grabbing his hand and pulling him in.

Fiddleford looked around the room. It didn’t seem familiar in any way. Dipper’s side of the room had a board covered in photos and string, piles of dirty laundry and stacks of books. Mabel’s side was decorated with bright posters stuck on the wall above her bed, there was glitter and glue everywhere, and her bed was covered in as many soft toys as she could fit on. She smiled brightly when she saw him, and got up from where she’d been sitting on the bed.

“Hello, Mr. McGucket. How are you settling in?”

“Umm… Good, I think. Sorry to bother you,” he said apologetically, “I was just looking around. Your Uncle said I could try and find my bearings. He was getting my room ready and I was getting in the way.”

“You’re not a bother,” Mabel said sincerely, “Since you’re living here now, that makes you family. Can I call you Grunkle Fiddleford?”

“Grunkle!?” He asked in surprise.

“Well we call Stan ‘Grunkle Stan’ because he’s our great uncle,” Mabel explained while Dipper laughed at the bewildered look on his face, “And since you’re his friend that would make you Grunkle Fiddleford.”

“I’m not really used to being called by my first name anymore,” he admitted awkwardly, “but yes, if you want to.”

“Yay!” She threw her arms around his waist in a big hug. After getting over his surprise, he hugged her back.

“I’m sorry that I got you both grounded earlier,” he said once Mabel had let go.

“Oh, don’t worry about it,” Dipper said, “Grunkle Stan’s always telling us off for something. Even if he hadn’t grounded us for the rest of the week on a Sunday, he’d have forgotten about it by tomorrow anyway. He always does.”

“And if he hadn’t forgotten, I just have given him my best smile and suggested a family activity,” Mabel said with a mischievous grin, “Nobody can say no to me for long because I’m so  _irresistible_ ,” she struck a pose.

“You look ridiculous, Mabel,” Dipper said, rolling his eyes.

“Whatever, Bro-bro, you’re just jealous that I got all the adorable genes.”

“Yeah, but I got all the intelligence,” he said, sticking out his tongue. They both laughed. Fiddleford just stared at them, their banter reminding him of another pair of twins.

“Anyway,” Dipper said turning back to Fiddleford, “I was wondering if you’d remembered anything more about who wrote the journals?” he pulled journal 3 out of his jacket and showed it to him.

“Umm… not really,” Fiddleford said backing up slightly, “I don’t remember much about my time working with the author or what we worked on. I don’t remember much of anything really, just bits and pieces of my life.”

“Would reading the journal help you remember?” Dipper asked eagerly pushing it into his hands.

“I…” It probably would help jog his memory but he’d promised Stan that he wouldn’t tell them about his time in the Mystery Trio.

“We could read it together now!” Dipper pressed.

“Dipper, be nice,” Mabel scolded, “Grunkle Fiddleford’s had a long day.”

“Sorry,” Dipper said, taking the journal back, “I was just excited about finally getting some answers about what’s going on in this town.”

“Why don’t you lend it to me and I’ll tell you if it helps me remember anything?” he asked.

“I’d prefer to keep it close,” Dipper said hugging the book to his chest, “it’s saved all our lives lots of times and people keep trying to steal it.”

“Give it to him,” Mabel instructed.

“But…” Dipper started to say.

“Pass it over now,” she said firmly, “You know it by heart now, anyway.”

“Not the bits in invisible ink.”

“ _Dipper_.”

“Okay, okay,” he said, reluctantly handing it over. He went and got the black light before give it to Fiddleford too, “You’ll need this to read some of the pages.”

“Thank you, I promise that I’ll keep good care of it,” he said, holding the old worn journal almost reverently. He wondered what had happened to the other two journals. Just then his stomach gave a painful growl.

“Are you hungry?” Dipper asked.

“I’m always hungry,” Fiddleford said truthfully, it was something he’d never managed to get used to. The gnawing emptiness that came with having no home or money was something that not even the memory erasing ray had been able to take away.

Now that his memory was coming back, he could remember using the ray to try and forget the pain of hunger. It had been what finally robbed him of the last of his sanity. He was already living in the dump by that point and had lost control of the Society of the Blind Eye.

The Blind Eye had started forcefully removing people’s memories. Even in his confusion and fear, he’d known that was wrong and that it was his fault.

He’d always given people the option to remember if they wanted to. However, he’d lost control. He hadn’t been able to remember who was in the society or where they were. He hadn’t known who to trust or where to turn. All he’d known was that he had no way of stopping what he’d created.

Fiddleford had still owned one memory erasing ray. He’d been hungry, lost and scared. He’d set it to wipe his mind blank thinking it would take the guilt away and he’d be able to die in peace. It hadn’t worked. He’d forgotten alright but the hunger had still been there and he’d been unable to remember that he’d wanted death.

Somehow he’d survived. People threw out enough food that he’d never starved to death. He’d found a newspaper that mentioned him having a son. The memory eraser had been gone but he wouldn’t have known what it was or how to  use it anyway. From that time onwards – until the twins, Soos and Wendy had helped him get his memories back – he’d been Old Man McGucket.

“When was the last time you had a proper meal?” Mabel asked.

“Um…” he said thinking, “Stan gave me a coffee earlier today and last night I caught a rabbit but it was only a small one. I probably wasted more energy catching it than I got from eating it. I also found a whole pack of bananas that had been thrown away. They were over-ripe but they weren’t rotten. You’d be surprised what people throw out. I  _think_  the last real meal I had was on Friday. Dan won free pancakes again for everyone at Greasy’s Diner and I got to eat a whole plate.”

“Wait…” Dipper said looking distressed, “you’ve only had one proper meal in three days?”

“I’m a tramp. Food isn’t exactly easy to come by,” he said, offhandedly then he corrected himself, “ _was_ a tramp. I guess now I’m living here, I’m a free loader instead.”

“Well you don’t need to scavenge for food any more,” Mabel said firmly, “come on Dipper, let’s feed Grunkle Fiddleford up until he bursts!”

Ten minutes later Fiddleford was sat at the kitchen table while Dipper and Mabel ran around preparing food.

“I made you an omelette shaped like your face!” Mabel said, putting a plate down in front of Fiddleford.

Without a word Fiddlford started to wolf down the food as fast as he could. A small part of him knew that he should be eating slower but he was so hungry that he didn’t care. Besides, years of surviving on only food that had been thrown away, or things he could steal or catch, had taken there toll. He’d learned long ago to eat anything he could before it was taken away or he was driven off.

He realized that his fingers and mouth were hurting slightly. The food was hot. He looked down and realized that Mabel had given him a knife and fork. He glanced at her guiltily but she was still smiling. She didn’t seem to mind that he’d just eaten her meal in under ten seconds using only his hands.

“Thank you,” he said, embarrassed.

“Wow, you really  _are_  hungry aren’t you?” she asked, then she turned to her brother, “How’s the pasta coming along?”

“Just done,” Dipper said as he poured tomato pasta from the pan and into a bowl spilling half of it on the floor. He proudly carried the bowl over and put it on the table, “Here you go, McGucket.”

“Thanks,” and he was eating again, but this time he forced himself to use the fork he’d been given. The pasta was still a little hard and the sauce wasn’t warm enough but he didn’t care. He was vaguely aware of Dipper and Mabel dashing around the kitchen making more food but he didn’t look up as he kept eating.

* * *

Stan had finished cleaning out Fiddleford’s room, brought all his things in from the car and put them away. In the chest of drawers he’d found an old pair of Fiddleford’s glasses. Unfortunately, the clothes he’d also found in there were all moth eaten and beyond saving. They’d probably be too big for Fiddleford’s skeleton frame now anyway.

With a sigh, Stan put the clothes into a bin bag and threw them into the outside bin. He’d have to take Fiddleford shopping and get him something decent to wear tomorrow. Some shoes were a top priority, for a start. Fiddleford couldn’t keep walking around with nothing but bandages on his feet, and he’d have to get that cast off his arm.

Stan was so lost in thought, as he headed back inside, that he almost missed the sound of laughter coming from the kitchen. When he did hear it, he went to investigate. From the doorway unnoticed, he saw Fiddleford, Dipper and Mabel at the table which was piled high with empty plates. Stan noticed journal 3 on the table too. The three of them were all drinking hot chocolate and the twins were laughing. Fiddleford looked tired but he was smiling happily.

“And then we sung Taking Over Midnight and all the zombies heads exploded!” Mabel giggled.

“Except Soos’,” Dipper clarified, “I had to cure his zombie-ism and he kept trying to eat Grunkle Stan while I was making the antidote.”

“Having fun?” Stan asked and all three of them jumped.

“McGucket was hungry,” Dipper explained.

“He hadn’t eaten anything  _all day_ ,” Mabel said glaring at him accusingly, “we were feeding him up.”

Guilt twisted in Stan’s stomach as he realized that despite knowing how thin Fiddlford was he hadn’t thought about how hungry he would be or when he’d last eaten, “I said that he could get something to eat if he wanted,” he said, in his own defence, but the words sounded hollow even in his own ears.

“I didn’t mean to eat quite so much,” Fiddleford said looking at the piles of plates as if only just seeing them, “sorry, we made rather a large mess.”

“That’s alright, Nerd,” Stan said soothingly, not wanting Fiddlford to get upset or scare him again, “you’ve nothing to apologize for. I’d prefer a mess than for you to be hungry.”

“Well thanks, Moron,” Fiddleford said relaxing slightly.

Dipper and Mabel glanced at each other;  _Nerd and_ _Moron_?

“I should have thought to make you something myself, anyway,” Stan said, guiltily. Trying to find a way to make up for his thoughtlessness he pulled Fiddleford’s glasses from his pocket, “Look what I found when I was cleaning out your room.”

“Are those my…?” Stan nodded and gave them to Fiddleford who slipped them on. He blinked through them and a slow smile spread across his face, “I’d forgotten how bad my eyesight was without them. I can actually see properly with them on.”

“Why was there a pair of his glasses here in the first place?” Dipper asked.

“I guess he must have left a pair here before he started forgetting things,” Stan said, “I’ve lost glasses all over the place.”

“Just how often was he here?”

“I’ll clean all this up,” Fiddleford said getting to his feet before Stan had time to answer or Dipper could ask any more questions. He grabbed a stack of plates and headed for the sink, but Stan took them from his hands.

“I got this, Nerd,” Stan said, “you look dead on your feet. Why don’t you head to bed?”

“’M not tired,” Fiddleford yawned, “okay, maybe I am. Bed sounds  _really_  good actually.”

“Can you get there by yourself or do you need help?”

“I lost my memory not my ability to walk,” Fiddlford said, rolling his eyes and Stan grinned. For a moment, Fiddleford had sounded just like his old self.

“Goodnight, McGucket,” Dipper said.

“Goodnight, Grunkle Fiddleford,” Mabel said and Stan had to stop himself from crying out in surprise. Grunkle Fiddleford? Dipper and Mabel had certainly accepted Fiddlford moving into the Shack quickly. In fact, they seemed to have already decided he was a part of the family now.

“Goodnight, everyone,” Fiddleford said with another yawn. He picked the journal up off the table and headed to bed.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stan sings some BABBA and Fiddleford remembers how he lost control of the Society of the Blind Eye.

Once Dipper, Mabel and Fiddleford were all fast asleep Stan made his way to the gift shop. He pressed in the code into the vending machine, pushed it aside, got into the lift and hit the button for the lowest level. Stan was practically bouncing when he reached the lab.

He went over to his desk and pulled an old photo frame from the top drawer. It held a photo of himself, Stanley and Fiddleford from back before Stan’s life had fallen apart. He smiled at the picture and looking at it didn’t hurt quite as much as it normally did.

“Hey, Lee,” he said still looking at the photo, “You’ll never guess who came by today… Fiddleford! He remembers us, or he’s starting to anyway. After thirty years I’m going to get both of you back… Yes, I know it’s taken me a long time but I promise I’m coming for you… Don’t lose hope, okay? I’m almost there.”

Stan knew most people would think he was mad if they found out that he still talked to his brother even though he wasn’t there but he didn’t care. Everyone talked to themselves either out loud or in their head. The only difference between them and him was that he pretended there was someone there to listen.

He put the photo down and started checking the readouts for the portal. As he worked, he absentmindedly started singing Oh, Sorpresa by Icelandic pop band BABBA,

_“Oh, Sorpresa, watch me start again._   
_My, my, why do I still love you?_   
_Oh Sorpresa, can you see again?_   
_My, my, how sentimental I am for you._   
_True, I have been fainthearted,_   
_Sad since the day we parted,_   
_How, how could have I let you go?_   
_Oh, Sorpresa, today I truly know,_   
_My, my, I will never let you go.”_

* * *

Fiddleford could hear someone crying and he headed towards the sound. He was in the Gravity Falls Museum of History and dressed in the robes of the society that he was the head of. He knew that the crying would be coming from the Room of Forget which was where he and the other members gave the people of GravityFalls the option to forget all the weird things that happened in the town. Fiddleford wasn’t sure what those things were anymore. He assumed that they must be bad or he wouldn’t have chosen to forget them.

“You have to help me!” the crying voice was yelling desperately, “That… thing took my son. I _need_ to save him.”

“It’s alright,” said a voice Fiddleford recognized, “I’m going to make it all better.”

Fiddleford realised that something was wrong and started to run. He reached the room just in time to see Ivan use the memory gun on a man he didn’t recognize. The man’s face relaxed and became peaceful. Two other robed figures led him away.

“What the hell are you doing, Ivan?” Fiddleford yelled angrily. He strode down the steps into the room, his robes billowing behind him as he went.

“My job,” Ivan said calmly, turning to Fiddleford, still holding the memory gun, “we make people forget. That’s what we do.”

“We _never_ force people to forget,” Fiddlford told him, “we give them a choice. That man didn’t want to forget. I heard him.”

“And I was just supposed to let him run into the forest and get himself killed, was I?” Ivan asked. Fiddleford took a step back when he saw the look in the 17 year old’s one good eye. There was a look of fervour and conviction on his face as if he really believed he’d just done the right thing, “He told me that his son was taken by a giant bat thing. Chances are that his son is dead. All he’ll know now is that his son is gone. He still has hope. I’ve given him a gift.”

“You can’t make that decision for people,” Fiddleford told him, “we _always_ give people the choice.”

“And how would you know?” Ivan sneered, “Face it, Fiddleford, you’ve lost it. The rest of us have jobs, lives but what have you got? You live in a dump, you have no friends outside of the society and even your own family don’t want to know you. You use your invention like it’s a drug and you’re an addict. Yet you tell us all what to do and go on about choice as if you’re some moral god.” He pointed the memory gun at Fiddleford, who took another step back.

“Ivan,” he almost squeaked in fear, “put that down. Our job is help people forget bad things _if they want to_.”

“If I hadn’t made him forget, he would have told others what he’d seen,” Ivan was yelling now as he advanced on Fiddleford, pointing the memory gun directly at his head. Fiddleford tried to retreat further, but his legs hit the steps and he fell backwards. “Is that what you want? People would either have found out about the supernatural or they’d have thought he was mad.”

Fiddleford struggled to his feet but someone grabbed him from behind and held him captive with their arms rapped around his middle trapping his arms at his sides. He glanced back and could make out a face under the hood, “Bud?” he asked disappointed.

“Sorry,” the other man apologized, “but we all agree that Ivan’s right. You’re too soft, Fiddleford. It’s time the Society of the Blind Eye took a firm stance on keeping the supernatural a secret.”

“Don’t do this,” Fiddleford pleaded turning back to Ivan as the teen reached them, “don’t force people to forget and don’t make me forget everything. I just wanted to help people.”

“Don’t worry,” Ivan said as he fiddled with the settings of the memory gun, “I won’t make you forget everything. You just won’t know who we are or where to find us. If you come to your senses about erasing everyone’s memories, just ask around for the Blind Eye and we’ll welcome you back.”

“NO!” Fiddleford screamed, struggling and kicking out in an attempt to get away, but Bud held him tightly.

“Thank you for this gift,” Ivan said gratefully. He raised the memory gun and fired. Fiddleford’s world went black.

* * *

Fiddlford woke with a scream, his face wet with tears. He panicked for a moment looking around the darkened room until he remembered where he was.

_Stupid, stupid old fool_ , he thought tears still leaking from his eyes, _I helped destroy so many lives._

Fiddleford suddenly realized that he felt terrible. His stomach was twisting in pain and he could taste vomit at the back of his throat. He stumbled from his bed wearing the oversized pyjamas Stan had left for him to borrow and he made his way as quickly as he could to the bathroom.

He reached the toilet just in time to lean over it and start throwing up painfully.

While Fiddleford concentrated on not getting vomit all over Stan’s bathroom floor, a small part of his brain still managed to chide him for eating so much. After years of not having enough to eat, of course his body would react badly to him devouring that much food like a mad man.

He gripped the rim of the seat, and his arm shook as he continued to throw up. After his stomach was empty he stayed where he was for another half an hour dry heaving and groaning in pain.

Eventually, his body calmed down and he was able to flush the toilet. He was just curling up on the floor, not trusting himself to go back to bed, when Stan came in and turned on the light.

“Fidds!” he cried, his eyes widening at the sight of Fiddleford on the floor.

Fiddleford half whimpered, half cried as he turned away. He hated how weak and pitiful he must be looking. He was drenched in sweat and even paler than normal. Stan didn’t seem to care though. He strode forward, bent down, and pulled Fiddleford into a hug.

“You okay, Nerd?” he asked worriedly.

“Fine,” Fiddleford said, embarrassed, “I just made myself sick by eating too much. I should have known better.”

“You okay to move now?” Stan asked.

Fiddleford made a noncommittal noise in the back of this throat.

“Come on,” Stan sighed deciding to risk it, “let’s get you some water and then we’ll clean you up.”

Stan stood up still cradling Fiddleford to him. Fiddleford knew that he shouldn’t be letting Stan carry him around. He was a mess and he was ruining Stan’s jacket but he was tired. Instead of pushing away and walking unaided, Fiddleford curled against Stan and buried his face in his chest feeling safe in his arms.

Stan took him to the kitchen and gently sat him down at the table. Fiddleford whimpered slightly when Stan let go and he hated himself for it.

“I’m just getting you some water,” Stan said reassuringly.

Fiddleford knew he was being pathetic. Stan’s patience with him could only last so long. Surely his ability to put up with him was running out. Maybe that was a good thing. When Stan’s misplaced sense of duty – or whatever was making him be nice to Fiddleford – ran out and he stopped pretending not to hate him, Fiddleford would stop being a burden.

Fiddleford didn’t realize that he’d started crying again until Stan put a large glass of water down in front of him. He sniffed and wiped at his cheeks too tired to be really angry at himself. He picked up the glass and washed away the taste of sick.

“It’s gonna be okay, Nerd,” Stan told him. Fiddleford half laughed, half cried at the absurdity of that, “No, I mean it. I’ve made my mistakes but I’m gonna make up for them. I’m not going to let anything bad happen to you again.”

“You didn’t let anything happen to me, Stan. I did this to myself. I’m beyond saving,” Fiddleford said, not looking Stan in the eye, too scared of seeing the disgust he knew Stan must be hiding, “I shouldn’t have come back here. You’d have been happier if I hadn’t come.”

“That’s just not true. Don’t you _ever_ doubt that I’m glad you’re back,” Stan said fiercely. Fiddleford gave him a look that told Stan he didn’t believe him at all and he felt a lump in his throat. In a gentler voice he said, “I’m going to make you believe me somehow. You want some more water?”

Fiddleford nodded and Stan refilled his glass. Fiddleford quickly swallowed it, “Thank you.”

“No problem, Nerd. Come on, let’s get you cleaned up,” he said, helping Fiddleford to his feet and leading him back to the bathroom. He turned on the tap and started to run Fiddleford a bath.

“Why are you up?” Fiddleford asked, as the question finally accrued to him.

“I heard you flush the toilet and came to see what was up,” Stan said with his back to Fiddleford as he watched the bath fill with water.

“It’s the middle of the night and you’re still dressed,” Fiddleford said.

“Couldn’t sleep.”

“Okay,” Fiddleford said dropping it. If Stan didn’t want to talk about something then he had no right to push.

Stan turned off the tap, rolled up his sleeve and tested the water with his elbow, “You need any help getting undressed?” Fiddleford shook his head, blushing slightly, “Okay, I’ll be just outside the door if you need me.”

Stan left closing the door behind him. Fiddleford striped and slid gratefully into the bath giving a relived sigh as his body relaxed in the warm water. He cleaned himself quickly and even put his head under the water before scrubbing his beard.

He got out of the bath, pulled out the plug and dried himself with a towel before putting on a dressing gown that he’d found hung on the back of the door. From the size of it, it clearly belonged to Stan.

“Done,” he called and Stan came back in.

“You ready to go back to bed?” he asked.

Fiddleford nodded and Stan gently led him back to his room. He helped Fiddleford, whose eyes were drooping, into bed.

“Do you want me to stay and keep an eye on you?”

Fiddleford knew that he should say no. Stan needed sleep too. He shouldn’t be staying up worrying about him. Instead of telling Stan to go to bed, Fiddleford’s treacherous mouth said, “Don’t go.”

Stan nodded, pulled the chair out from under the desk, and sat down next to Fiddleford’s bed.

Fiddleford let his eyes close and drifted off to sleep again. Stan watched him and frowned as he started to whimper in his sleep. He wondered if he should wake him but decided that Fiddleford needed his rest. Instead, he reached out and gently started stroking Fiddleford’s forehead. Fiddleford stopped crying at Stan’s touch and seemed to relax in his sleep.

“It’s gonna be alright, Nerd,” Stan told his sleeping friend quietly, so as not to wake him, “I’m gonna fix this, I promise.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fiddleford talks some more with Dipper and Mabel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Fiddleford has a bad panic attack in this chapter, if you find that triggering then please don’t read this.  
> AN: Thanks to the awesome southernkittygal for betaring this chapter for me.

When Fiddleford woke again, he stayed where he was; laid on his back not moving or opening his eyes for a few minutes, just relaxing. He actually felt calm and rested. He couldn’t remember dreaming anything after Stan had put him to bed again…

Stan!

Fiddleford suddenly became aware of gentle snoring coming from his right and his eyes flew open. In the early morning light shining through the curtains, Fiddleford could see Stan slumped forwards in his chair, half bent towards him and sleeping peacefully.

Fiddleford couldn’t believe Stan had stayed all night. A small stab of guilt hit him in the gut when he realized he’d kept Stan from having a proper night’s sleep in his own bed.

He got up, careful not to disturb Stan’s sleep. He pulled the pillow off his bed and put it behind Stan’s back. Then he pulled the cover off and draped it around his shoulders. Stan didn’t stir.

Fiddleford fetched his glasses from where he’d put them on the desk the night before. His old clothes were still on the floor. Since he didn’t have any other clothes, he picked them up and changed back into his overalls.

With one last look at the sleeping Stan, Fiddleford left the room closing the door quietly behind him.

Fiddleford went to the kitchen and looked at the clock. It was still only 6:32am. He probably had at least another half an hour before anyone else woke up. Fiddleford got to work.

He got a cloth and started cleaning out the cupboards. They clearly hadn’t had a proper clean in a long time and were full of dust. Then he cleaned the work surface. He wasn’t sure what to do with the stuffed possum he found there. He ended up putting it in an empty cardboard box and resolved to ask Stan about it later.

Once he was satisfied with the work surface, Fiddleford moved on to the fridge. He emptied the food out onto the table, throwing away anything that was out of date, and scrubbed the shelves until they sparkling. Eventually, he put the food back and cleaned the outside of the fridge. He left the post-it-note – which said _Exb Plon_ – where it was on the door. The mounted wolf’s head he found on top and the can of gasoline by the side of the fridge went in the box with the possum.

Fiddleford moved on to clean the old wood stove as best he could before cleaning the oven. From the shelves next to the oven, he removed the steering wheel of a ship and a large tusk that looked like it was made of ivory and placed them in the box.

By the sink he found the ribs of some big animal, which also went into the box. He scrubbed the sink until it was no longer covered in grim.

It was 8:45am when Dipper and Mabel found him sweeping the floor.

“Good morning, Grunkle Fiddleford,” Mabel yawned, “Whatcha doin’?”

“Cleaning,” he answered.

“Why?” Dipper asked. To him the idea of cleanliness being close to godliness was a foreign concept, “Stan says a bit of dirt will toughen up our immune system.”

“Yes, but this kitchen was growing whole new types of bacteria. If someone hadn’t cleaned it soon, they would have gained sentience and tried to overthrow humanity,” he joked, before adding more seriously, “I’ve got to do something to say thank you. You’ve all been so nice to me and I needed to find a way to show how grateful I am. This doesn’t really put a dent in how much I owe you all, but I have to try. I’m not… there’s not much I’m good at anymore but… I’m kind of useless now and I didn’t know what else to do.”

Dipper and Mabel shared a look before Dipper said, “You’re not useless McG… I mean Grunkle Fiddleford. You save us all from Blind Ivan, you’re really clever and you build cool stuff.”

“You wouldn’t have needed saving if it wasn’t for me,” Fiddleford whispered, more to himself than the twins, his eyes stinging slightly. He curled in on himself, shoulders hunched and he wrapped his arms around his middle as if he could somehow hold himself together.

“I don’t think Grunkle Stan wants you to do much,” Mabel said as brightly as she could, as if she hadn’t seen how close he was to falling apart. Something in her tone made him stand a little straighter in an attempt to seem more okay, so as not to upset her or Dipper, “He just wants to help you. I’d take it if I were you. He doesn’t do much without there being strings attached.”

“I’ve got to at least _try_ to help around here or what good am I?” he tried to explain without falling to pieces in from of them. From the looks on the twins’ faces, they didn’t understand but they knew something was wrong. In a way, he was glad they didn’t understand. He didn’t want them to understand his need to apologize for everything he’d ever done. He didn’t want them to know what it was like to feel the need to say sorry for take up space and existing at all, “Can I get you anything for breakfast?” he asked changing the subject.

“The chocolatiest cereal we have!” Mabel laughed going to the cupboard and pulling out a box of _Choco Teeth Rotter_. The box had a picture of a cartoon dentist with an evil grin and a speech bubble saying, “See you soon!”

As Dipper got the milk from the fridge he asked, “Do you want any, Grunkle Fiddleford?”

“I think I’ll stick to toast, thanks,” he said as his stomach reminded him of his mistake last night.

“Suit yourself,” Dipper said as Mabel brought over two bowls and spoons. They sat down and poured out their cereal.

Fiddleford started to sweep the floor again until Mabel said, “Make yourself some toast and sit down.”

“I, um… I should really finish cleaning,” he murmured uncertainly.

“Breakfast is the most important meal of the day,” she replied, giving him her best smile, “you should be setting an example.”

“I’m not a good example of anything except of how _not_ to do things.”

“Come on,” Dipper coaxed, “if you don’t eat, you’ll be too tried and hungry to finish cleaning.”

“I… O-okay, yes, I can do that. T-taking a break isn’t bad right? I can finish cleaning when I’ve eaten something. Stan won’t mind me using some bread will he?” Fiddleford muttered, talking to himself again.

“He doesn’t want you to be hungry,” Mabel told him, “you can eat as much as you like.”

Fiddleford nodded, coming to a decision. He put the brush away and made himself some toast before joining the twins at the table.

After a while Dipper asked, “Have you read any of the journal yet?”

“Dipper!” Mabel scolded her eyes narrowing dangerously.

“Not yet,” Fiddleford said, “I’m sorry, I haven’t had time since last night.”

“That’s okay,” Dipper said seeing the look on Mabel’s face, “just tell me when you do. I want it back when you’re done.”

The three of them fell silent. Fiddleford knew it was because he was there. If they’d been alone, Dipper and Mabel would probably have been laughing and joking together. He felt an almost overwhelming urge to run from the room but he knew he couldn’t without worrying them.

He took a bite of toast and tried to swallow but his throat seemed to have closed up and he ended up chocking and spitting it out instead.

“Are you okay?” Mabel asked worriedly as she leapt to her feet, “I’ll get you some water.”

Fiddleford whimpered, his thoughts becoming even more confused and scared than normal. Dipper was asking him something but Fiddleford couldn’t seem to make the words make sense. Mabel was holding out a glass of water but he just stared at it in confusion, his heart hammering too hard in his chest. He couldn’t seem to catch his breath.

_Stupid, selfish, old man…_

The twins were looking really worried now. Dipper was still taking, trying to calm him. Mabel put her hand on his shoulder as reassuringly as she could but he only flinched away as if she’d hit him. He was panting but no air seemed to be reaching his lungs. He felt light headed.

_They should hate me…_

The twins didn’t hate him but they should. They’d almost lost their memories because of him. They’d grown up without a grandfather because of him. He should tell them, then they’d hate him like they should but he couldn’t because he’d promised Stan.

_Stan… my fault… all my fault…_

_Stanley_ _’s dead because of me and I choose to forget…_

Distantly, as if it was happening a long way away, he saw Dipper run from the room. Mabel was still there, looking terrified. The room was spinning. Black starts dancing in his vision as the world closed in.

_Can’t breathe…_

_Stan will be angry at me for scaring them…_

His heart was beating so hard it hurt. His vision was blurring even worse.

 _I haven’t finished cleaning_ …

_My fault…_

_Stan will…_

As Fiddleford felt himself slipping sideways off his chair, the world went black. He was unconscious before he hit the floor.


End file.
